


Who Knows the End

by startwithsparks



Series: The Iron Price [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-28
Updated: 2012-06-28
Packaged: 2017-11-08 18:29:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/446196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startwithsparks/pseuds/startwithsparks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While in the ruins of Valyria, Euron sees something that reminds him of home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Knows the End

 

 

> Who knows the end? What has risen may sink, and what has sunk may rise. Loathsomeness waits and dreams in the deep, and decay spreads over the tottering cities of men.
> 
>  
> 
> \- H.P. Lovecraft, _The Call of Cthulhu_

 

Euron's upper lip curled slightly as the tender slogged through the last few feet of black muck towards the shoreline of Old Valyria. He left no one behind on the _Silence_ , but had forced his entire crew to the boats at the end of a sword. Now the ship sat anchored in the brackish water, as dead as these forsaken shores. If he and his crew died here, by the hands of some unseen power, the ship would stand a sentinel to the fact that he had braved the haunted islands. After all, death wasn't something to fear – all men met him at some point in their lives, and some were even fortunate enough to tell their tales.

The boat bumped to a stop, jarring Euron forward hard enough that he had to brace one boot against the bow, glaring over his shoulder at the oarsman behind him. Grabbing one of his men by the scruff of the back of the shirt, he forced him out of the boat and watched as his feet sunk mid-calf into the thick swamp. He scowled and motioned for the rest of the crew to follow forward until they reached solid land beyond. Only then did he follow, the mud sucking at his boots as he waded towards the shore. When the swamp gave way, it tapered gently to a black rock shore, the stone nearly as fine as sand, glistening fragments of obsidian glass. Strewn here and there were larger chunks, big enough to fashion into rudimentary weapons, and Euron called to a few of the men lingering back on the shore to gather these rocks and divide them evenly between the boats to haul back.

He pressed onward with those brave enough to join him, a shrunken, bald old man lingering close to his side. He was a relatively new acquisition to the crew and one that Euron hadn't silenced just yet, only because his words were more valuable than the lack of them. Sand stuck to the soles of his boots, crunching as he moved, though he had no sense of being particularly weighed down by it. In the distance, the ruins of the once great city jut from the ground like the bones of an enormous, ancient animal, twisted and harsh. The obsidian coated the spikes of former towers, rising like knives towards the sky, and what was left of the rest of the city seemed to have melted into the ground.

"They lost control of their dragons," said the warlock, a half step in front of Euron.

He glanced over, glaring, and snorted under his breath. "I've seen the destruction dragons can cause, this isn't it. This came from the bottom of the sea."

Euron placed a hand on the hilt of his sword and forged forward towards the ruins, leaving the man lingering behind him for a beat. The hike was long and cruel, and the closer he got to the city, the stronger the smell of salt and brimstone became, sticking in the back of his throat. The smell alone, like death, was enough to drive most would-be explorers from the island, but like the sight of fire-forged glass, it was nothing that Euron hadn't experienced before and it wasn't something he'd be so foolish as to blame on dragons. The others may think it, that the Valyrians had unwittingly uncovered another dragon cave and fallen to their wrath, but he wasn't prone to flights of fancy. Could a dragon shatter Valyria into its many pieces?

When they finally reached the edge of the city, where once a wall stood grand, Euron waved for his men to follow. The ones who had been brave enough to come this far – and the ones who didn't he would have killed before they made dock next – fell into rank behind him and followed through the rubble towards the smoking center of the city. Eons later and the place still burned. The grotesque smell of rotting didn't let up either and Euron finally had to press the edge of his cloak over his mouth – blood and sweat were far preferable to thick, rank air. The temperature rose as well, until sweat slicked their skin and their eyes watered from the fumes coming from the vast, gaping hole right where the palace must have one sat.

Euron smirked.

Dropping the cloak from his mouth, he turned towards his men – who were all in a similar state of unease. "Find the sword," he said, "and whatever else you can carry. You might live to get off this island if you find something that amuses me." Then, turning to the warlock, he nodded smugly towards the pit. "Didn't I say it wasn't dragons?"

He patted the man a little too hard on the shoulder, causing him to stumble forward towards the hole, and though they were well within a safe distance from it, the man still stumbled and grasped for purchase on the nearest thing he could find, causing Euron to roar with laughter as he walked away.

Once he got used to the stink and the heat, it wasn't quite so unbearable to go wandering around the old ruins, and with the ground silent beneath their feet, he had little concern for the sleeping monster at the center of the city. He'd come too far and trod too long through the disgusting mire to get here, he wasn't turning back without something to show for it. The other man still walked behind him, but now well out of arm's reach, glancing around as though he expected something to leap out at him at any moment. Euron didn't think much of the man's superstitions, nor anyone else's; if he had, he wouldn't have sailed here in the first place. Let them tiptoe around corners and startle at shadows, it hardly affected him.

He stepped over a shattered threshold, thoughts of dragons and ghosts left behind him on the other side, and wandered idly through what could have been a house or an inn or anything at all really, for as much of it was left. Twisting his hand over the hilt of his sword, he kicked bits of rock and debris, watching it flake easily away from the floor. It wasn't black glass underneath, though, but gray ash and rock. Nudging at it with the toe of his boot, he managed to uncover a slight slope of white coming out of the ground. Curious, Euron crouched and pulled off one of his gloves, dusting the rubble away with his bare fingertips. Little by little a skull took shape under his touch and Euron canted his head to the side.

He wasn't the first one here, that much was clear, but whoever started digging this out left before he finished. Perhaps the Lannister who once set sail for this island had been spooked by the dead under his feet, or maybe something else dragged him away from the find. Euron wasn't above picking up where someone had left off, particularly when it was something as interesting as this. He knew well enough that it must be extraordinary for any human remains at all to survive this sort of heat and destruction, but there always had been rumors about the Valyrian's endurance to heat and fire. Standing, he shouted to another of his men wandering by, waving him in and instructing him to start chipping away at the stone that surrounded the bones, while Euron pulled his own dagger from his belt and did the same.

By the time they had a pair of skulls and their corresponding torsos uncovered a couple other men had joined the excavation, each chiseling carefully away at the rock until they reached the preserved bone below. Euron had shed his cloak and most of his armor, leaving him – and several of the others – in just a sweat-soaked shirt, the smell of the fires burning beyond clinging to their skin. He settled back, bracing himself with one hand behind him on the rubble, and surveyed what they'd managed to uncover. The pair seemed to have died wrapped in their embrace, smothered by ash and whatever else the chasm sputtered out so many years ago. Old Valyrians, the unlucky few who hadn't escaped the Doom.

He tried to consider the state of their remains, how in love someone had to be to simply lay down and die next to someone, but that wasn't love to him at all, it was foolishness and stupidity. Love didn't die laying down, it died running - or swimming - or fighting. Love died at the end of a sword, or with salt water filling its lungs, not choked by soot and smoke on some floor while the others fled to their ships. But he didn't hate the picture entirely, there was something about the immortality of it, the fact that the only bones to survive the cataclysm were these, that appealed to a deep, sunken, part of him.

"Dig it up," Euron said, standing and brushing off his trousers. He slid a hand through his hair and gathered his belongings again, glancing at the small circle of faces staring up at him like he was mad. "I said _dig it up_ ," he repeated.

"Do you think that's wise?" spoke the warlock, stepping out from the corner of the building where he leaned, unseen by the rest through their excavation. The others looked at him and seemed to echo his sentiment in their expressions. "Do we want to bring the curse of-"

But Euron cut him off, holding a hand up to silence his words. "There's no curse here, you old fool," he sneered. "Just a rupture in the earth, no different from the one the Valyrians used to mine their riches from. They simply made the mistake of building atop this one, and for their unfortunate miscalculation, they've been punished. God needs no reason to take what belongs to him, and the only curses men live under are those of their own making. Now dig up the bones," he turned his attention back to the crew, "and don't ruin anything. I intend to present this to my future bride."

Euron swept out of the ruins, having had his fill of laboring over the rock. And behind him, the warlock followed. He tugged his clothes back on, fastening his cloak around his shoulders, and set off towards the other side of the city to see what his crew had managed to find, if they'd been brave enough to venture past the chasm. If they hadn't, Euron would make sure they became very well acquainted with the pit.

"Are there congratulations in order, my lord?" the warlock asked as he scurried to catch up.

Euron smirked, "There will be," he said.

"You haven't asked yet?"

"I've hardly had a chance," he shrugged, tightening his belt around his waist again. "Surely you've heard the stories of my banishment – which, if you can really buy a man's loyalty, should be taken care of by the time we dock in Pyke."

"I'm afraid I haven't," he said, "your crew isn't exactly made up of strong conversationalists."

Euron snorted. "No, it certainly is not." He tugged his gloves back on, starting towards the ruins of a gnarled tower. "I have a throne to claim that's mine by birthright, and while I'm sure my brother will attempt to take it from me out of spite, I have a plan to secure my place on it. Unfortunately, that involves anchoring myself to someone. Fortunately," he tilted his head and flashed the warlock a wicked grin, "she's the best captain out of the Iron Islands after me." He grinned to himself, rubbing at the sweat-damp scruff at his jaw. "And she's not the sort of woman who'd appreciate the riches of plunder, as she's more than capable of finding her own and prone to taking insult as easily as her father. The only thing suitable for her is something she'll never find in all the seas."

"So you're going to bribe her," the warlock hummed.

Euron shrugged, "Or threaten her, but I figured I'd start with bribery first; for a change of pace."


End file.
